A woman who celebrates the completion of her first short story collection by going out to see Jackie-O-Motherfucker in concert is my kind of writer!
I first heard of Clare Wigfall’s stories through Last.fm. She posted a message in the shout box of my New Weird America group saying how this was the brand of music which helped her during the process of writing (similar messages were sent to groups linked to artists such as Anne Briggs, Will Oldham and Current 93).
Surely, I thought, someone with such impeccable musical taste has to be worth checking out! Happily, the stories live up to expectations.
For a debut, the range of subjects and handling of different voices in these 17 stories is highly assured. Her chief skill lies in being able to capture moments of tension and mystery through deliberately omitting key details – that old chestnut about authors needing to show not tell is never better epitomised than in these tales. For example, in Hero I Have Lost a woman is referred to a psychiatrist by her father following an incident the details of which are never revealed, in Free a man tells a stranger the worst thing his mother did to him but we are left to guess what that might have been, In Night After Night a husband is arrested over an unknown crime.
I was reminded of the one and only interview with cult singer Jandek who, when asked to say who the other musicians playing on his album were, replied “I don’t think it would be right to give that information”. Human nature being what it is, the desire to speculate over such gaps of knowledge add to the intrigue and fascination.
Clare Wignall’s insights into the complexities of personal relationships is also a strength. This is evident in a story such as My Brain where a mother manages to communicate disapproval towards her son’s girlfriend without being openly critical. Similarly, in The Party’s Just Getting Started, she skilfully exposes cracks in a man’s seemingly perfect marriage to a beautiful fashion photographer by hinting at a dissatisfaction that even the husband is only half aware of.
Elsewhere, we have a Carveresque tale of a university professor finding unusual lodgings (The Parrot Jungle), a fascinating take on the Bonnie And Clyde mythology (Folks Like Us) and a deliciously macabre story built around a mysterious spate of disappearing babies (Safe).
My two personal favourites are the title story and one of the shortest pieces called When The Wasps Drowned. The latter made me think of Ian McEwan in the way it recounts grim goings on in an ordinary suburban setting. There’s something of McEwan’s precision in haunting lines like : “Suddenly the day around us seemed unbearably quiet, as if everything was holding its breath”. Here, I love the way she says ‘everything’ and not ‘everyone’ to give a chilling sense of detachment from merely human sounds.
The story from which the collection gets its title is also incredibly rich. I immediately re-read this one twice but still find aspects of it wonderfully elusive. It charts complex emotions surrounding loss and grief and includes the following remarkable passage detailing an exchange between a newly widowed mother and her blind son:
“I see the loudest sound, he whispered, low into her collar bone, and nothing. It took the colour from her face, drained all colour into the heather below them, and she knew that all he saw was all she’d ever wanted and all she’d ever known, and she handled him roughly as she pulled him to his feet, and set walking fast, too fast for his short legs, like a child with a toy on a string dragging and bumping behind it”.
Writing of this quality is what makes these stories every bit as impressive as the music that helped inspire them. Highly recommended.
